


Stranded

by mymishaandjensenfic (ljunattainable)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Cockles Cooperative, Cockles blizzard, First Kiss, Freezing Jensen, Freezing Misha, It's Jared's fault, M/M, prompt, stuck in snow trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/mymishaandjensenfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen and Misha go for a run together as a snow storm closes in on them. They think it's all under control but they didn't reckon on Jared and his latest 'prank' turning their situation highly dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> For the cockles cooperative prompt on tumblr 'Jensen and Misha stranded in a snow storm'.

The temperature’s dropping. Dark, thick, heavy clouds full of snow from the promised blizzard hover just over the hill but are rapidly coming their way. The location crew are rushing to do as much as they can before everyone has to leave to avoid being snowed in. The logging road they had to follow to get up here isn’t exactly top of city’s snow-clearing priorities. 

Jensen drops briefly into the little heated trailer that’s been set up near where they’re actually filming. There’s a weather channel on mute that has a constant dribble of harried-looking people hanging around it, checking for updates. Jensen skims the screen, familiar with the information layout by now. According to the screen, it’ll be five hours before the snow starts in earnest, three before the first half-hearted flurries, which means four before they have to leave to go back to the studio, roughly a two-hour drive away in this weather. He and Misha should have plenty of time for their run, getting back in time to shoot their last two scenes on the set the crew will raise once Jared finishes doing his scenes with guest vampire of the week.

Satisfied, Jensen squeezes past two crew members with their eyes glued to the TV, sipping from hot mugs of soup, and backs out of the trailer. He shivers at the temperature drop and pulls his thick red, padded jacket closed at the front. Jogging slightly, one arm still holding his jacket, and lifting his knees high with each stride to warm up, he heads towards Misha’s trailer. Turning a ninety-degree corner between a small truck and an SUV parked with only a small gap between them, he nearly runs into Jared.

“Whoa,” Jensen starts, pulling up short. Jared peers out from between his beanie and his scarf looking almighty pleased with himself.

“Nice look.” Jared looks Jensen’s outfit up and down with a smirk. In his muscle-warming long jogging pants, baggy blue shorts and incongruously huge quilted jacket he probably does look a little ridiculous.

“Have you seen this weather?”

“I have,” Jared says, “And I’m not stupid enough to go running in it.”

Jensen shrugs. “Promised Mish,” he says, though he’s glad too to get out in the woods, not just because of a promise. “Is that why you’re looking so smug? Because I’m going running? Because I hate to remind you but you’re about to shoot for two hours and pretend it’s summer.”

Jared’s smile grows big and mischievous. “Ah, no, I’m looking smug for something else entirely.”

That’s worrying. “Is it something I should know about?”

Jared shakes his head. His smile grows. “Nope. I’ll tell you later when we’re about three kilometers down the hill back to town after the day’s shoots over.” Jared tilts his head in mock thought. “Yep, three kilometers should do it.” He chuckles.

“Jared,” Jensen says. There are warning bells going off in his head. Jared pats him on the head.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little noggin about it.” Then he’s squeezing past Jensen with way too much of a bounce in his step and another ominous chuckle.

Jensen shakes his head and stretches. No use worrying about it until going home time it would seem. In the meantime, he’s got a run to look forward to. He glances up at the sky, he can’t help himself. The clouds have edged closer but not drastically so, and there’s a pretty yellow-grey glow in the heavy black. Yep, it’s going to be a good run. 

He heads off again to quickly cover the twenty or so more meters through man-made vehicular corridors to Misha’s trailer. He knocks on the door, then opens it and walks in without waiting for an answer. 

“You ready?” 

He can’t see Misha but he doesn’t have to yell because this is a tiny location trailer so Misha can’t be out of normal earshot and in fact the door on Jensen’s immediate right opens on cue and Misha appears, shirtless but with three layers on his legs. Jensen breathes in to let Misha pass, putting a guiding hand on the skin of Misha’s waist as he goes past. 

Misha flinches. “Your hand’s fucking freezing.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says, grinning. He’s not really, and it was worth it. Misha takes one long step the tiny distance to the couch where several shirts and jackets are piled.

Misha picks up a long-sleeved t-shirt, and slides it on, more’s the pity. Misha’s beautiful and one day Jensen will tell him that. Maybe. On his deathbed. The long-sleeved shirt is followed by a short-sleeve t-shirt, then a windcheater jacket. Jensen picks at the sleeve of the jacket as if testing it for its adequacy against the weather. Misha stands there and lets him. Jensen is always touching Misha and Misha always just stands there and lets him and maybe sometimes Jensen lets himself wonder why it is that Misha lets him do that and sometimes he’s just grateful that he does. He finishes pretending he’s inspecting the jacket and pats Misha on the shoulder. 

“Let’s go.” 

Jensen starts to take off his red jacket to leave it in the trailer thinking they’ll run the two or three kilometers along the vehicle access to the trailhead as a warm up like they did when they were up here the day before yesterday, but Misha shakes his head. 

“Too cold and not enough time,” he says. Misha picks up his bright blue winter jacket, the only item of clothing left on the couch. “We’ll drive the first bit and take these to warm up after.” 

Jensen tucks himself back into his jacket. “I’m not going to argue with that. It wasn’t exactly the most interesting part of the run.” 

The parking area at the trailhead is deserted when they reach it which isn’t really surprising given the weather. Jensen looks up at the sky as they hide their jackets away in the trunk though someone thieving from their car is probably the least of their worries today. 

“It looks as if it’s moving in faster now,” Jensen says, almost to himself. 

Misha shuts the lid of the trunk with a soft clunk, and looks up, standing close to Jensen and following his line of sight. 

“I looked at the maps and there’s a couple of places we can cut the run short if it looks like we need to.” Misha grips Jensen’s shoulder and squeezes. “And we’ve got the car.”

Jensen looks at the city car Misha drives around in when he’s in Vancouver, then he turns to face Misha. Misha’s close but neither of them moves to increase the distance. “I’m not sure that’s particularly comforting,” Jensen says.

Misha does move then, with an amused smile. “Oh, we’re back to insulting my car are we?”

“It’s just begging to be insulted, dude.”

Misha smile turns challenging. “Shall we run?” he says. He takes off up the trail before Jensen realizes what’s happened, but Jensen rallies quickly and runs after after him. Misha looks over his shoulder and Jensen sees him grin when he spots him. Misha slows to a warm-up pace, and Jensen catches him up easily, then slows and matches Misha’s speed.

They run for miles. Sometimes side-by-side where the trail allows it, but mostly single file. They match strides and speed, they scrabble over rocky patches and watch out for each other on icy boardwalks, grabbing at each other’s arms if they’re at risk of slipping and falling. 

It’s a good run, and they don’t cut it short, pulling up at the car a half hour after it started lightly snowing.

Jensen leans forward, hands on knees, taking in deep breaths. Misha places a palm on his back and it pushes the sweaty shirt into his skin. It’s kind of gross, but also he doesn’t really mind. 

“A few stretches then we’ll go,” Misha says between breaths. Jensen nods and almost moans at the cold that replaces Misha’s warmth when Misha moves his hand away. He pulls at the hem of his shirt to stop it sticking to his skin and offer some relief. Man, but it’s bitter out here today.

It literally is only a few stretches before he hears Misha open the trunk. Jensen stretches upright, arching his back to stretch his spine out, and turns to take his jacket when Misha holds it out. They’re both starting to shiver when they pull their jackets on. Jensen’s warm from the run but the sweat on his skin is turning cold. The jacket itself is freezing cold when he puts it on but he’s glad he’s got it and it’ll warm up soon enough. The wind’s gotten up and is blowing the falling snow around them in little swirls of soft white. The snow’s getting heavier but they’ll be back at the location site soon enough and warm showers, dry clothes and hot soup are all waiting for them.

A soft click and, “’S’open,” Misha says with teeth starting to chatter. Jensen gets into the car grateful to be out of the wind at least. He shoves his hands up his sleeves to keep them warm. Misha gets in the driver’s seat and starts the engine, then after a couple of minutes to warm it up, he turns on the heater. A few minutes after that and a trickle of heat grudgingly makes its way into the car. 

Misha holds his hands in front of the heater rubbing them together to get the blood flowing, then shifts the car out of neutral and starts it moving along the track and into the ever-thicker snowfall. “I am looking forward to some of that hot soup.”

“Me too,” Jensen agrees, warming up at the thought. The car rumbles along the dirt and gravel and Misha turns the windshield wipers on to clear the snow. Jensen reaches over and rubs a hand over Misha’s hair to brush away the melting snow before it soaks through to his skull.

They’ve only gone about a hundred meters when the engine cuts out.

Jensen looks out the windows, both sides, in front and behind. “Is there a reason why we’ve stopped? I can see snow, rocks and trees. Actually, mostly snow right now.” Jensen looks up and the snow’s falling in heavy, thick flakes. So much for the five hours they were supposed to get.

“It wasn’t anything to do with me,” Misha says. Jensen turns to look at him. Misha looks worried, concern giving his face creases and lines not there earlier when he was relaxed from the run. 

“Meaning?”

Misha points to the dashboard, lit up with battery power. “The gas tank’s empty.”

“Um, you don’t think it would have been a good idea to fill it up this morning before you started your trip up a dirt track with no gas stations?” 

Misha frowns at Jensen. “Don’t yell at me. I did fill it up. It should be at least half full, more probably.” 

Jensen wipes his hand over his face. “Sorry… Where are you going?” Misha’s getting out of the car. Snow blows in and any heat in the car is at threat of disappearing through Misha’s open door. 

“I’m going to check for leaks. Or whatever,” Misha says before slamming the door shut. Jensen counts to ten, then opens his door and gets out, shutting the door quickly behind him to retain as much heat in the car as possible.

“There’s no point. If there’s no gas, we’re not going anywhere, regardless.”

Misha drops to the ground and all Jensen gets is a disembodied voice. “I filled the car up.”

Jensen drops his head to the roof and then lifts it again because it’s fucking freezing. 

“I believe you. Now can we get in the car?”

Misha stands up. “And do what? Go where?” Okay, he has a point. “I did fill it up,” Misha insists, quieter. “There should be plenty of gas in the tank.” Snowflakes are caught in Misha’s eyelashes as he pleads for Jensen to believe him. Of course, Jensen does, nearly, but the fact is they’re out of gas up a dirt and gravel road in an ever-worsening snowstorm so forgive Jensen for doubting … oh, my fucking god. “Jared.”

“What?”

Jensen balances his suddenly unsteady weight on the car. “How far do you reckon we’ve driven up the road, and just now?”

Misha looks confused. “I… why… why is that … I dunno, three kilometers?”

“Jared took the gas out of your car,” Jensen says. 

“Why?”

“Does he need a reason beyond being a dick?”

“I guess not.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Will that help?”

“It’ll make me feel better.”

Jensen looks up when Misha actually laughs. 

“It’s not funny, man.”

“It’s not a disaster either. We can walk.” Misha shrugs, looking unconvinced, and turns to peer along the track in the direction of the rest of the film crew, the trailers, the trucks, cars, and the hot soup. Jensen can’t see more than ten meters in front of him through the thickness of the snow that’s now falling and he’s already shivering and stamping his feet to keep them from going numb. The sweat in his clothes is sucking the heat from him and he can tell Misha’s no better off. There’s no way he’s walking.

“Too risky,” he says, shaking his head. “We should wait in the car and someone will come get us.”

“Did you bring your phone?” 

Jensen shakes his head. “You?” 

It’s Misha’s turn to shake his head. “I didn’t want to leave it in the car.” He pauses. “The heater won’t work without the engine.”

Jensen knows. He’s not worried. Not hugely anyway and not yet. “We’ll be okay out of the wind and we won’t be here long. They’ll miss us soon enough when we don’t turn up for wardrobe.” Misha visibly shivers. The temperature’s not dropping but the wind chill is a killer.

“Get in the car,” Jensen orders, rather than suggests, and Misha nods and complies.

There’s still some heat in the car. Not much but at least they’re out of the wind.

“What about Jared?” Misha asks through chattering teeth. “He wouldn’t haven’t meant for us to be in real danger.”

“He didn’t know we’d take the car. He meant for this to happen on the way back to town. He’d probably have left you sitting worrying for about five minutes and then we’d have come back to rescue you, with a trunk full of siphoned gas.”

“You knew?” Misha says, finally stirring himself up to anger. 

“No, I promise,” Jensen says, eager for Misha to believe him, and in some small way trying to make up for earlier accusing him of not filling up the car. “I’m just working it out from something he said.”

Misha huddles into his jacket and pulls his knees up. He laughs, but he’s clearly not amused. “My legs are freezing. I should have brought a change of pants or at least sweats to wear over these running pants.”

Jensen huddles further into his jacket. He wishes Misha hadn’t mentioned that because now it’s all he can think of and he thinks his legs are turning to icicles. He watches the snow as it billows around the car.

“Did you happen to tell anyone which trail we were going on?” Jensen’s teeth chatter around the words. He’s shivering fit to bust a gut now. Snow’s building up on the windshield. He wants to get out and wipe it off so that he doesn’t feel as trapped as he’s feeling right now but he also doesn’t want to move, destroying the warm pockets he’s managed to create under his jacket, and especially he doesn’t want to go outside.

“No,” Misha says at the end of a full-body shiver. “These jackets are useless,” he says between shudders.

“Be grateful for them, it’d be worse without them.” Misha ducks his head into his collar and closes his eyes. “Hey,” Jensen says, slipping a hand out of his sleeve and reaching over. He takes hold of Misha’s arm and pulls him across the seat, wrapping his other arm around Misha’s head and tugging him awkwardly into his shoulder across the car’s center console. “We’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Misha’s muffled voice shivers into Jensen’s jacket. “But it’s still fucking cold in the meantime.”

Jensen huffs a laugh. He nuzzles into Misha’s hair to warm his nose and cheek. “Um, I don’t want to presume,” he says, “but we might be warmer if we can sit closer. And possibly rearrange our jackets.” Misha sits up and they both stare at the back seat in unison. 

“I don’t want you thinking I’m easy,” Misha says.

“Misha, believe me, you are anything but easy,” mutters Jensen, maybe with a little too much feeling as Misha’s eyebrow shoots up even though he doesn’t say anything.

Ten minutes later they’re in the back seat, jammed in a corner to minimize exposed surface area. Jensen’s squeezed in the corner and Misha’s tucked against Jensen. They’ve linked their arms in front of them so that they can get their torsos and legs as close as possible. This may or may not be one of Jensen’s longtime fantasies, though probably without the imminent hypothermia. 

Jensen’s jacket is the bigger of the two by one size so they’re sharing it, draping it over their upper halves. Misha’s jacket is spread over their legs. There’s not a lot they can do about their feet, sticking out of the bottom of Misha’s jacket. Jensen can’t feel his, he doesn’t know about Misha but he suspects he’s got the same problem. Running shoes aren’t really designed for these conditions. 

“I’m hungry.”

Jensen kind of is too. “Do you have any food in the car?”

“Granola bars in the glove box.” Jensen stares at the glove box. It might as well be on the moon. 

“I’m not moving.”

“Me neither. It’s kind of warm here.”

It’s not warm by any stretch of the imagination but it’s not freezing which is an improvement.

“At least I know that if you die first I don’t have to eat you. I have granola bars.”

“Hmmph.”

Jensen chuckles. Misha tucks himself in to Jensen a little more. Jensen stops chuckling. He presses his lips into the cold softness of Misha’s hair. It’s not a kiss. It’s not.

“There’s only three trails near here,” Misha says, unprompted. Jensen opens his eyes. When did he close them? He can’t remember. Surely that can’t be good.

“Yeah. Someone should be here soon.” Jensen looks for a clock in the car but can’t see one. It seems like hours but it’s still light so surely it can’t be. Then he realizes the light is on in the car because they left the car on battery, and the windows are nothing but a blanket of snow reflecting the light back into the car. Any amount of time could have passed. He lifts his arm to look at his watch. Misha stirs restlessly against him.

“Wa’s’time?” Misha mumbles. Jensen’s brain feels as lethargic as Misha sounds, and he struggles to make sense of his watch. Whatever happened to those watches that just told you the time? He gives up and tucks his arm back under the coat wrapping it around Misha to pull him closer. He knows they’re not going to die. He knows they’re on a public trail and the crew will find them. They have huge four by fours and snow chains and all sorts of snow-capable equipment. Jensen knows all this in the logical part of his brain. The illogical part, the part that’s freezing its ass off in a car with one of his best friends, doesn’t know this. The illogical part of his brain thinks they’re going to die.

It’s the illogical part of his brain that kisses Misha’s forehead, then when he looks up in surprise, his lips. They’re both freezing, shivering, teeth chattering, and the kiss is brief, and let’s face it, not his best, but it’s there nonetheless and Jensen can’t take it back.

“What was that for?” Misha asks. He sounds sleepy. Jensen feels sleepy. If Jensen closes his eyes he can pretend they’re in bed, together, on a lazy morning, nothing to shoot until noon. And warm. They’re under a mountain of quilts and blankets.

“I just wanted to make sure I did that before we died.” 

“That’s reasonable,” Misha says, dropping his head back down and nodding against Jensen’s shoulder, as if it really is reasonable. “Though I’m much better at the whole kissing thing when my teeth aren’t chattering,” Misha mumbles. “V’ry dangerous French k’sing with chattering teeth.”

“Are you delirious?”

“V’ry prob’ly. Also, still fucking cold. You can kiss me again when my teeth aren’t chattering.”

Jensen drops his face against Misha’s hair, stifling a hysterical desire to laugh. He presses his face against Misha’s temple. He thinks maybe he’s a little delirious too. “Yeah, okay. Someone’ll be here soon.”

~~~~~

Someone does get there soon. The first Jensen knows about it is that the snow sounds louder than usual, then there’s a glaring torch light shining through the window and a face silhouetted behind it. He nudges Misha who sits up blinking against the light. The light drops away from their eyes.

“They’re here. They’re fine,” he hears someone yell. 

Of course they’re fine. The logical part of Jensen’s brain had known they were going to be fine. 

Illogically, Jensen’s still reluctant to move and the people who finally pull them both out of the car and shuffle them across to one of the two other vehicles on the ice-blocks Jensen and Misha currently have for feet, seem impatient. But soon Jensen and Misha are sat in the rear seat of an SUV, handed blankets and jacket’s and dry socks and gloves and woolly hats and left to their own devices to sort themselves out while the people outside make phone calls and shuffle a few things between the two vehicles. 

Getting changed is a slow process but the engine’s running in the car, the heater’s on enough but not too much, and movement gets easier after a while as the pile of wet, cold clothes grows in the foot-well and the pile of warm, dry clothes shrinks.

Jensen drops his head wearily on Misha’s shoulder when they’re done. This is normal, this is familiar. They’re not freezing to death. So why does he feel sad, like he lost something?

Someone unrecognizable in bundles of outdoor clothes opens the door and hands them their personal stuff, phones, wallets, keys, then thankfully shuts the door quickly.

Jensen looks at his phone. “Five missed calls from Jared, and three texts.”

“What do they say?” Misha asks, peering at his own phone briefly before tucking it in his pants pocket. 

Jensen tosses his phone onto the seat beside him. “Seeking forgiveness. Let the bastard stew for a while, he deserves it.”

After a few minutes Jensen sees the other vehicle drive off slowly down the trail, then two people climb into the front of the vehicle they’re in.

“Are you warm enough?” the man in the front passenger seat says, turning around so he can talk to them. He pulls the hood of his jacket down and Jensen recognizes Frank, one of the sound men. Jensen and Misha both nod in unison. As far as Jensen’s concerned it’s like a tropical paradise in the car right now. The driver is one of the people who normally drives one of the trucks of equipment. Anna, Jensen thinks her name is. She takes the car out of park and they move carefully forwards. 

“I told you we’d be fine,” Misha says, eyes closed, head lolling lazily on the back of the seat. 

“No you didn’t,” Jensen says, eyes roaming over Misha’s face. Did he really kiss him? Was it a dream? 

“Well, if I didn’t say it, I thought it,” Misha says. He opens his eyes and stares at Jensen. It’s intense, like he’s trying to read his mind. Jensen doesn’t look away and after a few seconds Misha smiles a small smile and turns away himself to look out of the side window. Jensen watches him for a moment longer, wondering what the smile meant, wondering if Misha saw what he wanted to see, before turning to his own window as they make their way down the track to the location site. He’s glad they didn’t try and walk it. The snow’s piled high in every direction and the track they’re on is only obvious as a slightly wider gap through the trees. They were lucky he realizes, and a different kind of shiver runs through his body at the thought.

They drive right past where the location site was without stopping.

“Everyone had to pack up and leave,” Frank says unnecessarily. 

Jensen’s not surprised they’re all gone. There are multiple deep tracks leading out of the clearing where they’d set up and they’re already filled in with snow. In an hour, maybe less, there’ll be no sign they were there at all. Misha’s car was probably close to being an unrecognizable snowdrift when they were found. He turns to find Misha is staring out of his window at the location site too and Jensen instinctively reaches across and squeezes Misha’s hand. We’re okay, he reminds himself.

It’s a long way back in to the city, and Jensen’s tired. After he gets over the unpleasant agony of his feet defrosting, he sleeps most of the way. At one point he wakes up to find he’s using Misha as a pillow but Misha’s asleep too, his soft, slow breaths giving him away, so Jensen just closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. 

He wakes up next to the dulled lights of a city in the throes of a blizzard and a quiet discussion between the two people in the front seats, Frank and Anna, debating what to do with them.

“Drop Misha off at his apartment, then take Jensen home?”

Jensen stirs and sits up. Misha’s apartment is practical, and clinical, because Misha’s there as little as he needs to be. Jensen’s apartment is full of things from home; bedding, pictures, little pieces of furniture, because it helps Jensen feel a little closer to home when he’s in Vancouver. 

“Take us both to my apartment,” Jensen says, stretching awake. His muscles are warm again. It’s heavenly. Misha stretches out beside him, blinking sleepily. Misha’s nearly on Jensen’s side of the seat, leaning against him, arm to arm. It’s not unusual, this touching, this closeness. They do it all the time. They don’t kiss on the lips, but they did today. Kissing is intimate, kissing demands more. They could forget about it. Jensen gets the impression that if he chose to ignore it, Misha would too. 

“Are we home?” Misha asks.

“Nearly,” Jensen says. 

The truck makes a few turns out of the downtown area of the city center and finally takes a right into the cul-de-sac of professional apartments of which Jensen’s is one, and pulls up near one end outside Jensen’s apartment. The snow in town is not as bad as out in the woods but it’s still feet rather than inches deep and the temperature gauge on the truck’s dashboard tells him it’s just over twenty-six degrees Fahrenheit. Jensen shivers, more a muscle memory than actual cold.

Misha shuffles himself more upright and by doing so moves himself away from Jensen to settle on his own side of the back seat, looking alone, physically and mentally, drawing a line between today and tomorrow, if it’s needed. “See you on set tomorrow?” 

Jensen closes the gap up again, and puts his hand on Misha’s neck, his thumb stroking at Misha’s hairline. Misha stops breathing. “Have your teeth stopped chattering yet?” Jensen asks. “Because if so, there’s something I’d like to try again. If you’re okay with that.”


End file.
